To be a Queen
by LadyNemo1
Summary: Narnia must have an heir. Susan and Peter are to wed. This is their wedding night. LemonX.


**A/N: warnings:** peven-cest; incest; sex; smut; lemon. You get the idea, if you don't want to read that don't read it. Let others enjoy things if they want to. Bestiality mentioned, though none is shown.

 **To Be a Queen**

It is universally acknowledged that a kingdom in possession of existence must be in want of an heir. Even a kingdom which has an heir would usually like a spare. Narnia had a problem. Marriage to Archenland was impossible: their heir was already taken, and the spare was uninterested; Calormen and Narnia were at odds and marriage could have opened Narnia to claims from the empire as well as future wars, and the Lone Islanders would have been deeply insulted if one had been elevated above the others. Marriage to a Narinian was an impossibility too.

Although Susan had had some delightful experiences with centaurs; Lucy, Susan knew, had often enjoyed the company of fauns, and Peter and Edmund had both spent some time with various dryads and nymphs before parting ways none of these were viable options. None of their temporary relationships could have ever borne fruit, certainly not of the earthly variety. Yet, a human had to sit on the throne or Narnia would fall.

Which was why, on a day in late spring, under a cloudless sky, above the cliffs of Cair Paravel, Susan was standing with Peter, about to be wed before the sight of the peoples of Narnia and in the name of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. It was only a mild comfort that Narnians had no taboo against the marriage of brother and sister, why would they? The first talking beats had been created in pairs, and the first king and queen had been the only humans. Had it been forbidden Narnia would have been a wasteland without animal life. With Aslan's blessing any child would be hale and hearty and carrying it would be no torment.

Yet, Susan could not help but look forward to the time when, after there was an heir, she and Peter could go back to life as it had been. Well, not entirely as it had been, on might as well be hung for a sheep as well as for a lamb after all, and there really wasn't any going back once you had slept with your brother. Peter was perfectly desirable too: long of limb, fair of face, with a neatly trimmed beard he had begun to grow. Peter the Magnificent indeed, the greatest High King Narnia would ever have, so the soothsayers said. It could have been much worse. Edmund's pleasures were painful, from what she had heard.

So, she stood on the cliffs, dressed in a sweeping gown of royal blue sprinkled with golden stars. Peter was dressed in the purest white samite. Together they made their vows. The feast afterwards went on and on, gifts were given, toasts were spoken. The dancing began and the wild panpipes played. Susan filled her goblet with wine, perhaps one more time than she should have. Why was she no nervous? She was no blushing virgin bride, so why did she care so deeply? She was Susan the Gentle ... the title stuck in her mind, it was so very bland. It sounded so motherly, had she always been destined for this then? A breeding mare for the realm and nothing more? Why did she, not Lucy, have to make this sacrifice? Oh, she knew the arguments, she'd agreed after all, suggested it even. Yet, now, when I came to it, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

The revelling filled the great hall, spilling out into the servants' quarters. Meek vole-maids giggled in speculation at the royal bedding to be; rough-and-tumble satyrs leered at the lucky king from the shadows; wolves and dogs howled and barked their approval that there would be new pups born to the alphas of the pack. All of it spilt unwanted around Susan.

At last, with a weary smile, Peter suggested that they retreat to the royal chambers. He stood to a roar of approval and Susan was pushed to join him. She smiled dutifully down on the fawning creatures.

Her smile twisted slightly as she wondered whether Narnia, like most children's dreams was an adult nightmare. Rulership had never been a blessing, one might imagine supreme power would be fun, but running a country where to make paper or parchment could justifiably be considered murder was taxing on the memory to say the least. Most creatures insisted upon personal judgments by a king or a queen for even the tiniest of disputes. Edmund took most of the burden, whilst gradually trying to establish a judiciary, but even so some had to spill over.

Susan allowed herself to be led by Peter, surrounded by a crowd of cherry blossom dryads who whispered unnecessary advice to her. At last they came to the royal chambers and in a flurry of all too voluminous robes they were alone.

Peter turned away from her, heaving a sigh of relief. He walked over to the dresser where a bottle of brandy waited. 'Do you want some?' He asked.

'No, I think I've had enough,' she said. Despite herself a pang shot through her that he wouldn't look at her. She reached behind her to unfasten the lacing which held her gown tightly to her. To the distress of her lady's maids she had insisted on one she could put on and remove herself.

'Please stop,' Peter said quietly, and she looked up at him. She realised for the first time that he looked at least as nervous as she felt. His face was pale and drawn, and around the glass of brandy his hand shook.

'Peter, we have to. For the kingdom,' she said softly. Her hands fell from the ribbons and she raised on to stroke his cheek, running her fingers through his beard.

'We don't, let 'em hang,' he said, collapsing into a chair. 'We don't have to do it. Just say we did. So, what? Maybe one of us can't have children ...'

'And if we do that they'll make Edmund and Lucy try. We're their older siblings, Peter, we have a duty to protect them.'

'That'll happen anyway. Who do you think any child we had would be married to? The same problems will arise after all.'

'Archenland might have a new prince or princess by then.'

'Fat chance, I hear the heir apparent's wife is more interested in horse-flesh than men. Oh, they get along well enough, but her tastes don't run to many heirs and the old king won't want to risk them being absorbed by us.'

'Anyway, we're blessed by Aslan, I'm probably more fertile than a bunch of rabbits in the spring.'

'You see, hear that in your voice, you don't want this either,' Peter said.

Susan hesitated, 'No, I don't. I don't want to be forced. But you're not forcing me, Peter, and I _do_ love you. It'll take time to adapt, I'm not going to pretend otherwise. We just need to change the way we think of one another.' With that she leant forward and kissed him.

It was a slow kiss, their first. A brush of the lips. She stretched up a hand, running it through his hair as he froze and lightly gripped his scalp. The other took the tumbler of brandy and put it down. She pressed closer to him, firm breasts pushing against his chest as she melded her body against the taut muscle of his.

She could scent him, a faint musky odour underlying the scent of pine and heather which hung on the clothes. She moved slowly, as if dealing with a wounded animal. Her fingers traced the muscles of his neck and shoulder as he moved to deepen the kiss; opening her mouth, inviting him in. He hesitated still and she could feel him struggling between instinct and thought. She broke away for a moment, leaning back, using him as a rock on which to hang as she looked up into his clear blue eyes and whispered, ' _Please_.'

He broke, brushing the jet-black hair away from her face he bent to her red lips. Their lips met and opened, tongues tangled for dominance, and emerging equal. It was probably the wine, she thought absently as her fingers nimbly flicked over the lacing of his doublet. She couldn't possibly desire her brother, at least not this much. Unless, of course, Aslan had a paw in this. Well, let him, if he was going to force her into fucking Peter she would make sure she enjoyed it.

One of his hands crept up her leg, gently squeezing her buttock. She smiled to herself, rolling her hips against his hand brushing herself against the growing erection she could feel in his breeches. She freed her mouth from his. Tossing her hair back, she started to nibble and lick down from his earlobe and over his throat. He groaned, pinning her against the door to the chamber. His hands trembled as he forced himself to be slow with an effort and gently unlaced the rest of her gown letting it fall away so that only her white shift remained. Her breasts, unbound by the bodice of the gown, rose to pert peaks, rosy nipples just visible through the soft, silken material.

She leant her head back, allowing his tongue to track down her collarbone and onto her breastbone as he tugged the shift lower until his lips could fasten on the small nubs of her nipples. His teeth grazed them and she gasped surprised by how sensitive she was.

She tore open his doublet, pulling the torn garment from him and throwing it to the floor. His broad chest was lightly covered in hair, the lean muscles of a warrior clearly visible, and she ran her fingers down them as he skipped back to look at her. It might just have been the lion's 'blessing' but she wondered why she hadn't tried sleeping with humans before now. Lucy went on about the fervour of talking hounds when it came to mating, but there was something exquisite about having a lover of the same species.

'You're beautiful,' Peter murmured hoarsely, 'Susan ...'

She put a finger to his lips, 'Shush,' and pushed him onto the bed.

She walked about the chamber, putting out the candles with wetted fingers until there were only a few in their lanterns. Her hips swayed as she walked and the candle light made her pale, lightly freckled skin seem to glow. She felt Peter's eye following her and she smiled to herself. At last, with the light dimmed to her satisfaction she stopped at the foot of the bed and slipped out of the white shift.

She stood for a moment, letting him look at her, before she crept onto the bed, crawling up it towards him, where he sat against the headboard. She halted, halfway up and ran her fingertips over the bulge outlined in his breeches. Peter groaned softly, and his hands, calloused from sword-work, slid over her shoulders. She moved up the bed, straddling him and undid the breeches purposefully. Then as one hand pulled his cock free her other hand cupped his chin, bringing it up so that she could kiss him.

This time she let his tongue enter her mouth, meeting it only lightly with her own. Her hand glided over the thin, delicate skin of his penis, stroking it gently. Then bucking away for a moment she licked her hand in a quick, cat-like motion and began to move her hand faster, as she began to kiss him again.

One of his hands moved to press on the small of her back whilst the other moved tentatively between her legs. He must have anticipated it, for his fingers were already wet with what she presumed was saliva, easing his gentle teasing of her golds and the slow swipe of his fingers down her slit as he wet them properly. It would have been easy enough in any case, she was almost dripping. Her sex was pulsing with desire and her vagina almost greedily pulled her towards his fingers.

She moaned softly into his mouth, letting his legs take her weight so that she could push herself down towards his fingers. His cock jerked in her hand in a spasm of desire as at least part of him realised quite how ready she was.

She snapped, and pulling back tugged off his remaining clothes. Then, pinning him down on the bed she mounted him, holding his left hand in hers, fingers intertwining. Her right hand gripped his shaft tightly, holding him steady as she lowered her wet pussy towards him. 'Let me do this, Peter,' she said as she felt him buck towards her. 'Let me take you into me, my king, my brother,' she said and with the last word she slid the purple head of his cock between her nether-lips and began to push herself down slowly. Gradually moving up and down upon him, clenching and releasing as she went, easing his shaft into her.

It took a long moment. Her mouth was dry and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Then he was insider her completely and she let out a long sigh she hadn't known she had been holding back. Her hands were both tangled with his now and she loosened them with an embarrassed smile. Then she released a hand and ran a finger over his brow and down his face.

Susan began to roll her hips slowly, gently working him backwards and forwards within her. His hand snaked down between her thighs, but she snatched it up, first sucking the fingers clean of her juices and then placing it upon her breast. She was too sensitive to allow him to touch between her legs again yet, not whilst she was sliding around him. She had had larger lovers, much larger. The first time she had let a centaur mount her she had thought that the half-horse cock would split her in two. It had taken a week before she could walk straight. Yet, Peter filled her in a way she had never anticipated: as if he had been moulded for her and her alone.

They moved in harmony, barely making noise, as if afraid it would break the spell of the moment. At last Susan, feeling Peter's thrusts growing more erratic, moved his hand back to between her legs and his fingers expertly teased her cliterous and the area just above, driving her to finally begin to gently moan. She lowered herself so that their chests came together. His fingers were loosening the knot of pressure which had been gradually building, releasing her orgasm and as it radiated out through her she twitched and spasmed atop him, long nails digging into the bedclothes. Her clenching and movement pushed him over the edge, and gripping her hips he slammed into her, his eyes closing as he spilt his seed into her womb.

They lay there, panting, as he gradually softened inside her, holding one another. He reached up with a weary arm after a few minutes and brushed a lock of hair to the side so that he could look her in the eyes. 'I love you, Sue,' he said quietly, earnestly.

'I know,' she whispered and kissed his eyes closed. She was fairly sure that with Aslan's 'blessing' she would be pregnant, if not from this time then very soon. She could feel imagined images of the future nudging at her: of herself heavy with child, swollen, pushing out a son. She rejected them, they were little devices from Aslan, no doubt. She would not just accept his plan. She would continue to enjoy Peter, no doubt, it had been good, but Aslan would pay for making her want this, need this, _crave_ this. Subconsciously her hand crept down to cradle her belly.


End file.
